


Intertwine (9:36 Dragon)

by Ballades



Series: Untold Stories of Thedas [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thea learns how to braid hair for Lark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intertwine (9:36 Dragon)

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago but never uploaded to AO3 until now. _Blood Moon_ missing moments.

The liquid black fall of Lark’s hair cascades from her head, flows down her back and over her shoulders, pools inky on the cushions of the meager couch in their room. There is a magic to it in that it never tangles, always stays straight and shimmering, the one thing about Lark that is just naturally, effortlessly beautiful.

Thea stares at Lark’s hair, and her fingers twitch.

“Lark,” she says softly so as not to hurt her ears. Lark is having her moon blood, and Thea has provided the customary tea. Lark’s agony is so acute that Thea has put in more honey than usual hoping it will help, but even so Lark’s headache rages, and every bit of light and sound is greeted with a flinch.

“Lark,” Thea says again. "I don’t know how to do that.“

Lark cracks open one eye, the iris of it such a deep brown that it almost hides her pupil. In the proper light Thea would call it dark chocolate, a velvety, rich chocolate, a brown so pure and unattainable that other browns would die of jealousy. It is a color Thea has not seen in another living being, and she doubts she’ll ever meet anyone else with such large, sorrowful eyes. Sorrowful and dolorous, that’s what Lark is; melancholy, weird. Not unattractive but unattractable, except to Thea.

"How can you not know?” Lark asks her in a whisper. Thea’s heart twinges as she watches her friend curl into herself, moaning.

Thea shrugs helplessly, though the movement is meaningless. Lark has closed her eyes again in order to endure the pain. "I never learned. That’s why I don’t braid my own hair.“

"It isn’t hard,” is all Lark says, and her hand, frail and skeletal in the wan candlelight, clutches at a threadbare cushion. "I need…“

”…to keep your hair out of your face. I know, Lark.“ Thea goes to the couch and sits, lowering herself increment by increment so that she doesn’t jostle her friend. Lark in this state is so fragile, so breakable and defenseless, her reservoirs of strength drained just to fight her own body. Thea finds it of utmost importance that she be Lark’s guardian and shield, her helper, her sole defender. They have been together long enough that Thea can read Lark’s needs like her own, and Thea trusts no one else with Lark’s care.

"I’ll do it, but it won’t be pretty.” Thea’s fingers card through Lark’s hair. It’s heavy and coarse, though she doesn’t think of it that way. The technical term is a misnomer. Lark’s hair is thick and shiny, and it whispers satiny through her fingers.

“I don’t care about pretty.”

“Yeah,” Thea says, affirming. "What’s first?“

"Separate into three equal sections.” Thea tries her best, pulling strands apart from each other, and grips one section in each hand. "Left over middle. Then right over middle.“

The first attempts are complete failures, and it takes a moment before Thea understands Lark’s directions. Slowly, painstakingly, Thea figures it out, and plaits for Lark what must be the ugliest, least technically sound braid in existence. There are loose pieces and flyaways, and some of the knobby parts are more uneven than the others.

"All right. I’m done. I hope it holds.” She takes Lark’s hand, guides it to her head so that she can feel it for herself.

Lark lurches to her feet and, without preamble, goes to the washroom and falls to her knees before the extra chamberpot. Thea follows, squatting next to her, sighing sympathetically when Lark gags, her entire body convulsing, sending bile into the bucket. She pushes the braid back over Lark’s shoulder and tucks stray pieces of hair behind her ear. She waits patiently, without even a wrinkle of her nose.

“Hey,” Thea says once Lark is spent. She slides her arms around Lark’s ribcage, helping her up. Lark weighs almost nothing, takes after her name so closely that she is its definition. Lark shuffles back to the couch with Thea’s assistance, but not before she rinses out her mouth.

“It worked!” Thea says cheerfully, albeit quietly. She gives Lark a sunny grin when she looks at her.

Lark nods, crumples into the couch’s embrace. She is ashen under the golden hue of her skin. Silence falls.

“It worked,” Lark says.


End file.
